


Moon Maids

by dirtybinary



Category: The King Must Die Series - Mary Renault
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 12:48:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1094047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtybinary/pseuds/dirtybinary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thalestris falls in love with (and shows off to) her red-haired Amazon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moon Maids

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rubynye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/gifts).



> Written as a treat. Happy Yuletide!

               Their eyes meet across the Bull Court and it would almost be like something out of a poem, but they are bull-dancers and there can be no poetry among them (except of blood and sweat, and the auguries of the god).

               She is an Amazon fresh off the ship from Pontos, small, slender and finely made as they all are, with red hair that puts Thalestris in mind of the forest around her mountain home when it puts on its autumn fineries. The new victims come into the Bull Court for the first time, with the autumn girl at their head. She gazes around with wide fearless eyes, and Thalestris wants those eyes on her again, so she runs across the hall to the Bull of Daidalos and somersaults up onto its back. Theseus and Chryse are dangling from its gleaming bronze horns. She vaults over them both, spinning once in the air, and lands lightly on her toes an inch from the autumn girl.

               Thalestris has never been shy, but she is not good with words and her Greek is still imperfect. She stands there, poised, waiting for someone to break the silence. She is not alone in her fascination, she knows; every new arrival is openly appraised by the bull-dancers who have come before them. The boys in particular are intrigued by the warrior maids, and Theseus will surely have something to say, some comment about which ones are likely to make bull-leapers and which ought to be given to the bull.

               The autumn girl is not looking at any of them. Her gaze alights on Thalestris, on her lean scarred arms, on her hair, black and uncombed and still wavy from just having been unbraided. “You leapt,” she says in passable Greek, with a fluid, rolling accent. “Can you show me how?”

               “Not everyone can do it,” says Thalestris.

               The girl tosses her fiery hair and tries to stand taller. Behind them, Theseus laughs. “Straight off the ship and already eager to learn. This one is perfect for you, Thalestris.”

               Yes, Thalestris thinks; by the gods above and in the earth below, she is.

 

 

               The autumn girl’s name is Akantha. Thalestris learns this from Theseus, who heard it from Amyntor, who had it from Chryse, who has taken it on herself to befriend each newcomer as they arrive and learn their names.

               Thalestris would approach them herself, but the Gryphons are dancing today and she must keep her mind on the bull. She makes do with a fleeting glance down the trestle table at Akantha, who lifts her goblet in a solemn salute. She will not be at the ring today, Thalestris knows; Aktor does not let the newcomers watch the bull-dance so early in their training. It is a relief, and also a disappointment.

               The Gryphons gather to pray, and before she knows it they are in the ring once again, and she is favouring the bull with the team leader’s salute. It lumbers towards her. She takes a leap and then she is flying through the air, laughing, spinning, free. In the ring, facing down the bull’s horns with her team all about her and fifteen thousand watchers howling in the galleries, she sometimes feels like she used to in a pitched battle back at home, before the Cretan ships came to take her away: like she is woven together from fire and shadow, untouchable, so quick she could run circles around the bull and tickle him under the chin.

               She feels the heat of the bull’s black hide beneath her bare feet and leaps again, tumbling to the sand. It seems to take an eternity. In mid-air she rakes her eyes across the bull-dancers’ gallery. There are the Cranes, and the Dolphins, and the ridiculous Sparrowhawks, and then her gaze catches on a flash of red and she loses her breath. Akantha has come after all.

               The sand rushes up to meet her. She has been distracted too long. She fumbles the landing and loses her balance, and her catcher just gapes at her; he has not had to steady her for so long that he does not remember how. She goes heavily to one knee. In the gallery Theseus is jumping around and waving his arms and pointing behind her, and she knows the bull is coming around for them.

               In her home beyond the Caucasus she would have rolled back to her feet, cat-quick, and taken the bull from the side. But this is Crete and she is the leader of the Gryphons, and their lives are in her hands. She grabs the gaping catcher by the arm and hurls them both sideways, out of the bull’s path. She lands under him and her ankle protests sharply and for a heartbeat she fears she is done, but they are still a team and the boy comes back to himself and pulls her up. She can stand; nothing is broken. Three other boys are hanging off the bull’s back, trying to turn him. Finally a girl yanks at his horns and darts away, and he trots after her instead. The immediate danger is past.

               Thalestris chances a quick look into the gallery. Akantha has clambered onto Amyntor’s back for a better view. Her eyes have gone wide, and her hands are clasped over her breast. Thalestris feels the spurs of shame prickling at her side. This is the first time her autumn girl has ever seen her dance; she will not hobble from the ring with only a fall and a twisted ankle to show for it. She must leap again.

               She does it sideways this time, cartwheeling clear across the bull’s broad back and landing on her good leg. The catcher steadies her with a hand on her elbow. The crowd screams for bold Thalestris, the bull is led away, and up in the gallery Akantha dances and punches the air with such triumph it is as if she has won some great battle herself.

 

 

               One of the crones binds up Thalestris’ ankle and cleans a long bloody scrape along her thigh she has not even noticed before. She drowses, and when she wakes her autumn girl is sitting cross-legged beside her.

               “You are brave,” Akantha says without preamble. “You saved that boy, when he let you fall.”

               Thalestris sits up. All her muscles are sore and tender, but it is a good, sweet, wholesome ache. The thrill of the bull ring is still on her, and she feels almost drunk. “They are my team,” she says. “We are all brave here. Otherwise we die.”

               A shadow of a doubt crosses Akantha’s face. “We all die in the ring, brave and coward alike,” she says. “Or else we end our days as one of those old cripples outside the Bull Court, begging for alms and helping jealous suitors ill-wish their rivals for a bit of extra coin. I’ve seen them. Better a good quick death in the ring than such a sorry life out of it.”

               She is brave too, and proud. She is wearing only her bull-dress, and her dusky breasts are bare and gleam faintly with oil, small but shapely over a rounded belly. Thalestris feels a stab of heady desire. “Aye, that would be a fine death,” she says, lifting her eyes to Akantha’s face with some effort, “but first we must live.”

               Afterwards, as they share their cloaks and watch the sky in the high windows fade from deep purple to a watered-down blue, Akantha says, “If it had been me with you in the ring, I would have caught you. I wouldn’t have let you fall. Can’t I be one of your Gryphons, when I am done with training?”

               Most of the newcomers wish their training would last forever; only Akantha is eager to face her bull. Thalestris pulls her close, strokes that fiery autumn hair. “If I have any say in it, I will pick you,” she promises. “One day we will fight at each other’s side, whether in the bull ring or out of it. I swear.”

               She dares not speak of Theseus’ plan to this girl yet, but when the time comes she knows Akantha will be there with the rest of them, fighting for their lives and their freedom. “I will hold you to it,” the girl says solemnly, and they curl up together again, and watch the first daylight break into the Bull Court.


End file.
